


like burning in reverse

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: ...well sorta, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, role reversal. Colonel Riza Hawkeye, the Flame Alchemist, and her loyal lieutenant forge a bond that carries them through the Ishvalan War, government conspiracies, the Promised Day, and beyond. </p>
<p>[A partial retelling of Brotherhood]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a role reversal fic, however I wanted to keep the personalities and the relationships between the characters the same as in canon (i.e. Riza won't have Roy's personality or vice versa) and this isn't a direct retelling of brotherhood/the manga, most of the dialogue will be changed to match what I think the characters would actually say, and I'll add in some scenes too, that being said the plot will follow canon (just abbreviated so I can focus on the royai bits) without further ado...

“You came back,” he muttered, his voice thin and carried by the weight of a single breath. Her father seemed so small, curled into his old wooden bed. His presence was so tiny to what she remembered of him, his mind and wisdom had always seemed so enormous to her before. She had thought she could never reach what he had achieved. But now that memory seems so false, as if her mind had fabricated it the whole time, because the man quivering on what she refuses to acknowledge as his death bed, seems so weak. 

“Of course I did, I-I didn’t know you were in such bad shape. There was such much I wanted to learn, still,” she managed to say, her resolve slowly crumbling. 

She was interrupted by his hacking cough, his whole body converging and shaking. 

“I finished it, ask the boy he knows where it-” 

This time when he coughed he pulled his hand away from his mouth and circles of red were splattered across hand, dribbling from the corners of his mouth. 

“Father!” she cried in alarm at the sight of his blood, nearly black in the light of a single lantern. 

His body continued to convulse, blood and fluids bubbling from his lips. 

“Father! Father!” the urgency in her voice rose, and fear settled into her frantic heart. “Pa!” she choked, trying to soothe his mangled, greasy hair. 

“Sorry, sweet pea,” he breathed, voice a barely audible whisper. 

“No, Pa, please,” she begged tears springing up in her eyes. “You can’t, I just got home. Pa…” but his eyes had already turned glassy. She scrabbled desperately to reach for his neck, for the pulse that still had to be beating there. But his skin was clammy, his heart still, Berthold Hawkeye was dead. 

Her hands shook as she settled them in her lap, her mind was moving too quickly, or maybe it wasn’t thinking at all, couldn’t comprehend anything but the necessity to swallow the feelings in her throat. 

She was startled out of her grief when she heard the pounding of steps on the stairs. The door was pushed open before she could even rise from where she sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Ms. Hawkeye, you’re back,” Roy Mustang murmured eyes flitting from her face to her father’s in surprise. 

“He’s dead,” she said in response, her voice startlingly flat. The quiet utterance solidifying the fact that her father had left this world.

His eyes widened in shock, 

“What? I-I was only gone for two hours, to have dinner at the McMurrys, I-oh no. I’m so sorry, Ms. Hawkeye,” 

She nodded at him in acknowledgement still unable to move from her place on the bed, the cotton sheets clenched in her fists, tear tracks on her face. 

She was surprised when he sniffed once and rubbed at his nose. 

“I’ll go get the doctor...and the mortician. You should stay here, with him,” Roy suggested already backing towards the door. He flew down the stairs, and she heard the creaky door slam as he sprinted into town, leaving her alone. 

Eventually she stood up, stumbling towards the door, and pulled it shut behind her. She fell to the floor and pressed the back of her head to the door, willing herself not to think of her father’s dead body that lay on the other side until she heard the rumble of a car outside. It felt like ten minutes had past or an eternity, or no time at all.

“Be a lad, and get the poor girl some tea, boy,” 

Her head snapped up in time to see Dr. Regan, the town’s physician, direct Roy, who made his way back downstairs. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to stand up, dear,” asked another man, in his mid or late sixties with salt and pepper hair and crow's feet. He must be the mortician, Mr. Ursey, who she had heard of but never met. Never before had a reason to meet. She scooted out of the threshold of the door, allowing access for the two men to enter and examine her father. 

She got the feeling that she was meant to follow them into the room, but Riza had already made up her mind to not enter the room again. She heard the whistle of the kettle downstairs, tea, she thought, did sound rather nice, so she hoisted herself up and made her way to the kitchen. 

“You like your tea with honey, right?” Roy asked as he got a mug out of the cupboard. The question was asked as a means to break the silence, he knew how she liked her tea. She took a precarious sip of the beverage after he set in in front of her, it was near scolding, but the burning water soothed her aching throat. 

“So,” he continued, stirring sugar into his own tea, “how’s the military?” 

She was thankful for his distraction that his conversation brought and answered, 

“I like the academy a lot actually. Whipped me into shape real fast, and I like how...orderly, everything in the military is. You always have something you need to be doing at any given time, I like that precision. And how about you? What have I missed?” 

‘That my father contracted a fatal disease,’ she thought, cruelly, to herself.

“Oh, not much. You know odd jobs here and there, Mr. Crachit was talking about taking me on as an apprentice, but then his son came back from out east, and that was the end of that. Last winter was really brutal so I had to hole up in your living room, read a lot of the books, and…” he trailed off and she knew that whatever he had been about to say had something to do with her father’s condition. 

“No, it’s fine, you can go on,” she reassured him. He was quiet for a minute, weighing his words before finally explaining when he continued, 

“Well, that’s when you’re dad got sick, so I spent a lot of time taking care of him,” he swallowed, “He talked about you a lot, was sure you’d come back home any day, he was really excited to show you his research. But then you didn’t, and he just got worse, and then…” he shrugged, reaching over his shoulder to scratch his back. 

“Well, thank you for taking care of him,” Riza said running her hands around the rim of her mug. 

“Hey, after everything you two have done for me it’s the least I could do, really,” he smiled, “Besides I made a promise, right?” 

She chuckled, and even if it was humorless, it felt good to smile. 

She watched Roy’s back as he collected her cup and cleaned it out in the sink. He was taller, taller than her know, probably, and he wasn’t quite as thin and wiry as he always had been. And he seemed better fed, maybe he was able to eat more because she had been out of the house, he deserved it, she thought, he’d always seemed too skinny. 

“You look...healthier,” she remarked. He turned to look at her, 

“I could say the same about you. You could probably kick my ass, even without the alchemy. All that military training…” 

“No, I mean it. I mean when you were little, you were half starved…” 

It wasn’t an exaggeration. When Roy Mustang had stumbled into her life when he was ten and she was nine, he had run away from his foster home, wandering around trying in vain to feed himself. He had received a measure of sympathy from the people in town, and some of the housewives would allow him to eat a meal with their families if he did some of the more nasty chores and errands. 

Riza had sought out his help in chopping and collecting firewood and fixing up the house when her father became enwrapped in his research for flame alchemy, too absorbed in his studies to continue household chores that she herself couldn’t perform. Her father, who she had never considered a very sympathetic or sentimental man, had taken pity on the illiterate boy and taught him to read and write and do his numbers since he had never gone to school. 

Her father also promised him access to any of the books in the living room (but not the study, he didn’t need two alchemy students) and Roy eventually took up residence in the old tool shed on the edge of the Hawkeye property. 

Roy quickly gained a reputation of a jack-of-all-trades in town, and he was well liked, he did all sorts of jobs as long as he could get a meal, and he was extremely charismatic, he had the sort of smile that endeared him to people. 

“Well, I owe you a lot for that then, you saved my life no doubt,” His musings interrupted her thoughts of the past. He returned to his seat across from her, and she tapped a beat atop the kitchen table. 

After a moment she glanced back towards the staircase. She appreciated that Roy had attempted to distract her, had succeeded for the most part, but thoughts of the past always led back to thoughts of her father, who began instructing her at a young age the mechanics of alchemy, who she had spent long hours with in his dark and well worn study. 

He had never been particularly affectionate, but she had come to expect and appreciate his small words of encouragement or praise, and had cherished the few times he’d call her his ‘sweet pea’ and give a rare smile. She hiccupped and rubbed her nose furiously, she didn’t want to cry anymore. 

“You know your dad really loved you,” Roy said, and she hiccupped again. 

“Stop it, you’ll make me cry again,” she sniffed and a little gasp that might have been a laugh escaped her mouth too. 

“Well, I don’t want to do that, but even though he didn’t like the military he was really proud of you. He said to me once, ‘My little girl is going to do great things one day’,” 

She beamed at Roy, as he recounted her father’s words her cheeks growing wet again, but she didn’t mind, not really. 

She folded her arms on the top of the table and rested her chin on her arms, hiding her wide smile in her sleeve. 

“Thank you,” she said, “I was afraid that he was still mad, but…,” she shook her head back and forth, rolling her head along her arm, “thank you,” her voice was muffled by the fabric of her jacket. 

Her head snapped to the up when she heard the footsteps on the stairs again, she scrubbed the tears from her face for the upteenth time that night and puched herself to her feet when the two older men made their appearance. 

“I am sorry to pronounce your father dead, Ms. Hawkeye, and I know this is a hard time, but I’ll need you to sign some papers,” the doctor said, handing her a file from inside his briefcase. 

He handed Riza the documents and she accepted his offered pen with a nod of thanks. 

“Why don’t you move to the dining room while we clear out the body, dear?” Mr. Ursey suggested, indicating to the long forsaken dining room which was out of site from the front door. Riza nodded her thanks again, already skimming through the papers. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can talk about funeral arrangements and the like. Is that alright?” the mortician asked as Hawkeye took a seat at the old dining table. 

“Yes, that should be fine,” Riza answered glancing up at him. The older man nodded once and then went back upstairs with the doctor to collect the body. 

“Sleep well,” Roy said when the front door closed for the final time that night. He exited through the back door in the kitchen towards the shed outback. 

Riza exhaled slowly as the quiet of the house settled over her. 

She fell asleep at the dining room table. 

///

The funeral had been a small affair, some of the neighbors had come to the graveyard to offer their condolences, but the only ones that stood over Berthold Hawkeye’s grave now was his daughter, clad in the dark blue of the military he had hated, and the abandoned boy who he had given something like a home, wearing a high-collared and long waisted coat that were once Hawkeye’s own. 

“So what are you going to do now?” she asked him, feeling the wind flutter against the back of her neck. 

“Huh, I haven’t really thought about it. Well you’re not gonna sell the house. Are you?” he asked in return, turning his head to look at her. Her eyes remained fixed on the headstone, gazing at the crisp lines that spelled out her father’s name on the stone. 

“No, I haven’t really thought about it either, I guess,” she considered.

“Then I guess I’ll just be a squatter, for the time being,” He answered, a cheeky grin on his face that didn’t suit the solemn setting, “And what about yourself?” 

“I’d intended to apply for the State Alchemist examination,” she admitted. 

“That’s pretty ambitious,” 

She nodded in agreement. 

“I thought that I could do the most good in the military, really. Be able to protect people and to serve for them, spread a modicum of happiness,” she shrugged, “I think that’s what the world needs,” 

Roy turned to look back at the headstone. 

“That’s...very noble. I’ve never really thought about anyone before myself, you’re a really selfless person Riza Hawkeye. It’s really admirable, I think that if I could be like anyone...I’d want to be like you,” 

He pulled the collar of his coat higher as a chill breeze swept by tousling the bangs that hung in front of his forehead. 

“I’m flattered,” she murmured, tucking her own bangs behind her ear. 

“Oh, and if you want to be a State Alchemist, I know where Master Hawkeye kept his notes on Flame Alchemy, he finished his research while you were gone, he really wanted you to have it,” 

Riza suddenly remembered some of her father’s words to her from two nights ago, he’d said he’d finished it, that the boy knew where it was, she’d forgotten his words in her grief, alchemy notes had been the furthest things from her thoughts, but her father had deemed them important, in his dying moments. 

“Oh, yes, I’d love to see them. It’s getting kinda breezy anyway, why don’t we go back to the house?” 

She breathed in deeply once before turning away from her father’s grave, determined not to look back. 

“Okay,” he agreed, falling into step behind her. 

She couldn’t help but think that the house felt different now, suddenly the drafty rooms and leaky roof were eerie instead of homey, the layers of dust spoke of desolation. 

Roy took off his coat as Riza shivered in the parlor, draping the coat over his arm, leaving him in a simple, well-worn white t-shirt. 

“We should probably go upstairs, don’t want the neighbors getting the wrong idea,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” 

He answered with only a chuckle that was more nervous than humorous. He took the stairs two at a time, as if he was in a rush and then he turned into her old bedroom. Had her father kept his notes there? 

No sooner had she clicked the door shut behind her, a question on her tongue, when he tugged his shirt off. 

Her protests were trapped in her throat. 

The academic part of her brain raced, his entire back was etched with a red array, a perfect transmutation circle in the center, with text too small for her to read at her distance decorated all around it. 

But then the other part of her brain caught up, the rational, logical part screamed in protest to the thin, perfect, beautiful, lines that curved and around the muscles of his back. 

“What is this?” she demanded, fear sinking in her voice. 

“You’re dad’s notes. The secrets to flame alchemy. He finished right after he got sick. He said they were for you,” 

“He couldn’t have used paper! Roy do you know what kind of violation that is? How could you let him do that to you?” Her voice raised higher as her mortification grew. 

“Relax Hawkeye, I agreed to it. I mean it’s pretty badass, even if no one sees it,” Riza didn’t appreciate his attempt at humor. 

“It’s not funny!” 

He flinched, his shoulders jumped. 

“Relax,” he repeated. “Master Hawkeye knew he was dying, he didn’t know if you were coming back, and he couldn’t just write it down on a piece of paper, it has the potential to be really dangerous. So, I suggested he let me hold onto it, get it? It was my idea,” His voice was harsh, almost cruel, so different from how Riza always thought of him, she swallowed, taking a step closer to him. 

He stood completely still with almost military like posture, his breaths even and controlled. 

“Yes. I understand,” That didn’t mean she had to like it, but it was out of her hands now, and even as her anger diminished, the desire, to share this final connection with her father grew.

As she came closer she noticed the details of the design, the delicacy of the fine lines, it truly was a masterpiece. 

She began to read the last message she had from her father, inscribed into Roy Mustang’s skin.


	2. Chapter 2

“Riza Hawkeye?” A voice inquired, not quite chipper, but more lively than she thought suited a battlefield. 

“Rebecca?” She called back, her voice scratchy from the sand and grit that collected everywhere. She squinted her eyes against the harsh desert sun, looking down the ridge she was marching on. She focused on a waving figure. Sure enough, the black haired woman was jogging up to meet her at a brisk, but not rushed, pace. 

“I’d say it's nice to see you, but it's not,” Riza muttered, not looking in her direction, shame and self-disgust rising from the pit in her stomach. 

“Heh, well I knew you were out here somewhere. Everyone’s talking about how the State Alchemists are blowing the entire place up,” 

Her heart sank deeper into her chest, leaving a hole where soul should have rested, she'd thought she’d reached the pits long before now, but her friend’s false joviality seemed to crush her spirit more. 

Her feet marched on, back to camp, in time with Rebecca’s. She wished she could call the silence that sat between the companionable, easy like the days they raced laps around each other in the academy, instead it sat thick around them. 

Or maybe that's just the lipids in the air. The byproduct of flesh burned to incineration. 

 

Rebecca stepped over a severed hand, the once brown skin decaying and grayish. She wondered when she became so familiar with death, when it started to dance around her like a constant companion. She wondered how she could have ever cried over her father when the living left Ishval by the hundred each day. 

She wondered when she stopped being human. 

Rebecca rubbed at her eyes, and Hawkeye wondered how long she’s been awake now, if she still sleeps as deep and soundly as she had when they were roommates. 

Her friend’s face is chalky with dirt, it hides the freckles that Rebecca had always hated, which appeared under copious amounts of sun. Riza suspected that it wasn’t much of a consolation. 

She turned to get a good look at her for the first time, and grimaced at what she saw. 

Her eyes were narrow, sunken into her skull, but the shadow, (or maybe it was a gleam?) in her eyes branded her a killer. 

She wondered if she pulled someone off the street if they would be able to tell, just from looking into her eyes, all the awful things that she had done (that she will continue to do). 

But mainly she wondered how a woman like Rebecca could stop being human too. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

Riza flinched at Rebecca’s simple question. She wondered how anyone could ask that, when they were marching through hell, but Rebecca had always been a simple person. Riza wished she could imitate anything even remotely similar her carefreeness. 

“No,” Was the only response she can give. It is both the truth and a huge understatement, because Riza wasn’t even sure what she felt herself, only that it threatened to crush her at every moment and that she was somehow still pushing against it. She didn’t have the words to express that to Rebecca though, so her answer remained monosyllabic. 

“I can’t wait till I can get out of here and take a real shower,” Rebecca responded, she shook her head so that her hair, no doubt heavy with sweat, and grease, and sand, bounced around her neck.

Riz scoffed and it was the closest thing to a laugh that had escaped her mouth in months. 

“That’s stupid, we kill people out here. Uselessly, senselly kill people,” She wasn’t trying to be cruel with her words, only blunt,

 

“Yeah, but there isn’t anything wrong with working to achieve a goal. You can’t live in the moment in a place like this, you’ll go insane,” 

“We can’t all be like you Catalina,” she said, almost wistfully. They approached a basin of water and she tugged her gloves off and tucked them into her pocket before dipping her hands into the water, trying to wash off how dirty her palms felt, even though they were encased in cloth all day.

She splashed her face with the lukewarm water, reminding herself not to dry her face with her sleeve. She turned towards Rebecca when she began to speak, tugging her bangs from out of her face. Whatever the other woman was going to say never left her mouth, instead a look of fear flashed across her face and her hand went to grab her gun. Only then did Riza saw the glint of metal, a knife, held by an Ishvalan, face contorted in rage and body covered in blood. 

She fumbled stupidly for the gloves in her pocket, forgetting the loaded service weapon strapped to her side, but before she could pull on a glove or Rebecca could let a bullet fly, the Ishvalan went careening to the side, their blood spraying an arc into the air as they toppled over, dead from a shot to the head. 

Riza exhaled once sharply. She looked away from the body and finished pulling her glove on. She hadn’t heard the report of a gun, but she looked from side to side anyway trying to identify the soldier who had fired the bullet that probably saved their lives. 

“What was that?” She asked Rebecca as they moved away from the scene of the attack. She felt terribly ignorant, despite receiving the same training in the academy, Rebecca had always been the gun expert. 

“Another sniper,” She answered curtly, “Can’t say I know who it is, not there on my orders. They’re pulling a lot of cadets straight out of the academy, if they have any talent,” 

They walked together for a few more minutes, seeing a few more soldiers stationed around their fire, eating the night’s rations. 

“Oh hey!” Rebecca called out, and Riza wondered how she could stand to be so loud. “Were you the one stationed back there a few minutes ago? Thanks for the help,” she was saying to one of the soldiers there, a disassembled rifle leaning against their leg. 

If he heard Rebecca’s gratitudes, he ignored them because when Roy Mustang got to his feet all he said was, 

“Hey, Major Hawkeye. Remember me?” 

Her throat constricted at the sight of him, white coat over military blue, the same shadow in his eyes that was reflected in Rebecca’s and her own. The unfamiliar bite in his voice. 

He was angry with her, she realized after she and Rebecca had taken their seats and flippant introductions have been made. His hands shook as they gripped his cup of awful coffee, and her mind couldn’t help but say that it was very unbecoming of a sniper; he would’t look at her. 

Rebecca talked the entire time, attempting, despite everything, to make light of the circumstances. Even being her best friend, Riza didn’t know if she loved her or hated her for it. 

“Tell me Major,” Roy interrupted Rebecca,“Why are we killing these people? Are these ‘great things’?” He spat. 

His words were another blow against her but she realized in the same moment that they struck a chord with her too He didn’t hate her. He hated himself. 

“You’re really asking that, Mr. Sniper?” Someone spoke out, before Riza could even begin to construct a response. Her head snapped to the side when she recognized the cold syllables of the speaker, Solf J. Kimblee. “Aren’t you a soldier specialized to kill? You couldn’t have really thought you’d only be shooting clay pigeons all the time, could you? Isn’t this what you signed up for?” The alchemist continued unprompted. 

“This isn’t protecting anyone, this is just a slaughter house,” Roy retorted, his voice tight and angry. 

“It’s a war. Honestly people like you confuse me. Take pride in your job well done,” 

“There’s nothing to be proud of,” Roy answered through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, really? Tell me when you pull that trigger and your enemy falls, you don’t feel even a little proud of a job well done? That you lived and they died? Don’t forget about the people you killed Mr. Sniper, don’t look away from them as they hit the pavement, because the people you’ve killed will never forget you,” 

“Shut up!” Roy growled, his fists shaking, eyes shining with both fear and anger. “Shut up you crazy bastard,” 

The bell rang out above them, but Riza hardly felt saved as Kimblee dusted himself and gave a wave that dared to be friendly. 

Roy growled, grabbed his weapon and stalked away from the group.

Riza rose to her feet along with Rebecca, not without strain, war gave a constant dull ache to everything. 

“Rebecca,” she called out to her friend, “Why...why do you think we’re doing this?”

“I don’t know, Riza. I’m just gonna try and make it out the other side. So don’t die, I wanna meet you there,” Her friend proclaimed forlornly. “See ya later,” Rebecca waved goodbye as she headed to do her duty, to kill more people. 

“Yeah, see you later,” 

///

“Would you lighten up just a little bit?” Rebecca asked. She had forgone her heavy wool jacket like almost everyone else, and her smile seemed truly happy. “We’re going home! The war is over,”

“Is it though?” Riza remarked, waving off some of her comrades who called out to her to join in their drinking, “War still wages in my mind. It won’t go away, not ever,”

“You know if this military thing doesn’t work you, you should take up writing. That was some deep philosophical poetry right there,” 

“Nothing about war is poetry, Rebecca,”

“See! Right there! That’s some good stuff, you’d make a fortune,” Rebecca continued, undeterred by Riza’s dismissal. Their walk brought them to an empty area that was once filled with the tents for high ranking officers. Before that it was probably an Ishvalan town square, but any memories the cobblestones might have had about warm greetings, and bartering, and children playing had long since been erased. 

The Fuhrer stood atop one of building that was still stable, observing the celebration and the clearing out. He’ll make a speech soon, Riza knew, and it will speak of bravery and survival and patriotism and not death and destruction and ‘you’re all killers now’. It won’t speak the truth. 

Rebecca watched as Riza’s face became steely with determination, as she began to look like herself again for the first time since they were all dropped into the hell hole. 

“I want that,” Riza said and Rebecca looked up to follow Riza’s gaze. “For this country I want bravery and survival and patriotism. I want...happiness. For everyone. I want to live in a world where people make each other happy.” She glanced at Rebecca from the corner of her eye, “I think I can create it too,” 

“If anyone can do something like that, I think it’s you,” Rebecca agreed. “I’ll help you anyway I can. And just so you know, you’ve got step one down. You make me happy, Riza,” 

Riza’s face brightened, but she didn’t quite smile as they looked up to the future. 

No sooner do her plans for the future begin to take shape when her past comes to kick her legs out from under her. 

Roy found her relatively easily, and a simple question is enough to get her to follow him until they are far away from the bustle of troops and prying ears. 

“Burn it off,” He said without preamble. 

“What?” She questioned, she had half a mind to never burn anything again. 

“The tattoo, I want you to burn it off, please. I don’t want to carry your father’s research anymore, it was never meant for me...and there can’t be more flame alchemists, you have to understand.” His initial statement had started off strong, but his words faded till they were barely a murmur. 

“I...How could I?” Her body felt cold despite the heat of the sun. The air still stank of rot, and she didn’t think her stomach could handle the sight of his burnt skin, the smell of it. 

“Please,” he said, face eerily stoic, “I’m begging you, please. I don’t think I could move one from...this if you don’t,” he pleaded. 

And Riza had to admit to herself that she was scared. 

“Alright,” She finally replied, a lifetime and a second later, so softly she thought the wind might blow the word away. 

Roy smiled. 

///

Part of it (most of it) was a gut decision. Asking him to transfer to her team, to work as her assistant. But he came and saluted in front of her and that same feeling in her gut was telling her that she made the right choice, because trusting Roy Mustang is something that she could become comfortable with. 

She explained the situation as bluntly as she could. She took a steadying, but not deep breath before she reached the crucial part. 

“...And that means I want you to put a bullet in my back, if that’s what the situation calls for. If I stray,”

He didn’t hesitate in answering, and that told her that this promise will be one that keeps. 

“Yes, sir,” He paused then, as if trying to decide to say something more, “You’re father made me promise to watch out for you, too. So,” Another pause, “I’ll follow you anywhere. That’s two promises,”


	3. Chapter 3

“Lieutenant General Grumman, sir,” Hawkeye saluted crisply after she entered the office of Eastern HQ’s commanding officer. 

“At ease Lieutenant Colonel,” The old man replied and Riza let her shoulders relax only the slightest amount. He motioned for her to sit across from him and she took the seat. The General smiled at her, or smirked rather, with an odd twinkle in his eye. She waited for himl to address her once more, her air the acme of military protocol. It would seem that Grumman would have none of that though. 

“Tell me, do you play chess?” He asked. 

“I can’t say that I do, sir,” Hawkeye responded, refusing to let her confusion at his words show. 

“Ah, that’s a shame, it’s a fine game and I’m always looking for a new partner,” He sighed, “Do you want something to drink then? I have tea and brandy,” 

“I will have to kindly refuse you again, sir, and if you would permit me to say so I think it’s quite too early in the morning to be having brandy. Now if you don’t mind me asking, you called me down for something, sir?”

“Straight to business, I see. You know, word around the block is you’re a real workaholic. Although hard-ass is the title I see given most often,” 

Hawkeye didn’t so much as flinch. 

“I do exactly as much work as I think my position requires. And if it is permissible for me to say, sir, the ‘word around the block’ is not the wisest thing to take at face value,” 

“Oh, ho! Of course not, I have much better channels for stuff like that. I’m just trying to get a feel on the notorious Flame Alchemist!” He paused for a moment, gauging her reaction. “In fact that was part of the reason why I picked you for this assignment,

“As you probably noticed, after the Ishvalan campaign, a large majority of State Alchemists didn’t apply for re-evaluation and quit the program. There needs to be some fresh meat, so to speak, so the government is going to start a recruitment. And I think you would be a great face to inspire alchemists to join up,” 

Riza frowned. As a Lieutenant Colonel her position was considerably far above that of a recruiting officer, she didn’t mean to feel above that sort of work, but she also knew that her skills were better off in other fields. 

“Why me sir?” She asked. 

“Well you’re relatively well known, and nowhere near as imposing as Grand or Armstrong, and you’re a woman so you’re going to be less threatening-”

“I have a reputation of being able to burn people alive by snapping my fingers,” Hawkeye deadpanned. 

“-well, seen, as less threatening. And don’t think you can go around fooling me. You’re a people person, you’ll make it work. I’ll have the paperwork sent to your office. In the meantime, I have a list of leads of you might want to start looking into. The military will cover any traveling fares, and make sure you report to me before and after you seek out an alchemist, but other than that you can work at your own discretion. There will be other work in the meantime no doubt,” Grumman explained. Hawkeye absorbed the information, nodding when appropriate. 

“Make sure you read the full report,” Grumman finished, “You’re dismissed, granddaughter,” 

Hawkeye was halfway through saluting and stating her thanks when she choked on her words. 

“I beg, your pardon, sir?” She sputtered when she regained herself. 

“Well I wouldn't want to say anything on professional terms, but now that we’re on our own time I thought I ought to tell you. I’m your mother’s father,” 

Hawkeye had to do her very best not to gape at her commanding officer, her newly discovered grandfather. 

“She eloped with your father and broke off all contact with her family, it well, it broke my wife’s heart. But I knew why she did it, I was a horrible father, and I still regret that,” he paused and looked at her with sad eyes, “She never even told me she had such a beautiful daughter. I didn’t know she had died till last year. I saw your name, and I hardly hoped that you were Berthold’s daughter, my sweet daughter’s child, my granddaughter. But you are and you’re here,” 

General Grumman smiled at her with a look she can only think to describe as paternal, or maybe fond. It made her uncomfortable. 

“...I have work to do, sir. I will review those documents like you asked,” 

She watched as Grumman’s face fell, and she felt the familiar twinge of guilt as she clicked the door shut behind her. She inhaled deeply through her nose and began marching back in the direction of her office. 

“How was your meeting with the General?” her lieutenant asked as he fell into step behind her. 

“Surprising,” she answered. She heard Mustang’s quiet grumblings behind her, indicating that he thought her response was insufficient, but he didn’t press her for more information, he knew she’d explain if it was important. 

They reached her office a moment later, and, sure enough, she found the General’s promised documents in the incoming mail slot. 

“I want you to look over these too, once I’m finished with them,” the Lieutenant Colonel said, already flipping through the first pages. The lieutenant grumbled again, but did not state his distaste for the extra paperwork outright. 

Riza had barely read the first two pages, which detailed the plan’s initiative, when her door burst open and a call of ‘Riiiiizaaaaa’ could be heard ringing through it. 

“Catalina, I’m working,” Riza said, stubbornly concentrating on the document before and refusing to look up to meet her best friend’s eyes. 

“Oh, but work is so boring!” Rebecca groaned, “And I can’t go down to the range because it is so humid outside, and my hair can’t take that,”

“So you decided to bother me instead?” Riza demanded still looking down, but now tapping the end of her pen against her desk. 

“I’m not bothering you!” Rebecca protested. “You don’t really have to do any of that stuff. I bet you finished everything due this week a month ago! Take the afternoon off and have lunch with me, pleeease,” 

“I already took my lunch break,”

Rebecca pouted. She had been thrilled when she learned Riza was to be transferred out East and had expected them to spend a lot of time together, just like they did back in the academy. 

Instead it seemed, to Rebecca, that her friend hardly ever wondered out from behind her desk. Other people had taken notice too, and Hawkeye seemed to have gained the reputation of a stick-in-the-mud, who didn't know how to have fun. But Rebecca could not be so easily fooled, she knew that Riza was a lot of fun. Her best friend had a witty sense of humor, and while her work ethic was extraordinary, she also knew how to let her hair down. 

“Well then you're coming out for drinks with me tonight, and I won't take no for an answer!” Rebecca demanded. Hawkeye may be trying to cover up who she truly was, but she couldn't hide from Rebecca. 

A minute later Hawkeye sighed in exasperated agreement. 

///

“See, isn't this nice?” Rebecca said as she swirled her cocktail. 

Rebecca knew better than to take her to a club, so instead they went to a higher class bar near the center of town. 

It was the kind of place out of a detective story, the furniture was all dark polished wood, and the lights cast an orange glow on everything, giving off a mysterious ambiance. It was early still, too, so no boisterous drunks or rowdy youths interrupted the quiet conversations and clinking of glass. 

Rebecca may have wanted to go somewhere a bit more raunchy, but those sort of places always made Riza uncomfortable, and they weren't the sort of place you went on a girls night out anyway. They weren't here to find dates, after all. 

“So it looks like I’ll be doing a lot of traveling soon,” Riza said as she absentmindedly munched on the pretzels provided on the bar. 

“The Lieutenant General is sending me out to recruit alchemists for the program,” she elaborated. 

“Well, I don't envy you,” Rebecca said, taking a sip of her drink. She pouted, “But I just got you back, I don't want you gone all the time,” 

Riza shrugged, “Duty calls,” 

Rebecca snickered, her nose curling up in the way she hated but that Riza found enduring. 

“It’s like you’re actually five years old,” Riza observed, unamused. 

“Blame my brothers. They were all awful influences,” Rebecca responded when she regained herself. Riza simply shook her head. 

“No, but seriously, I’ll miss you. We won't be able to go out like this a lot of you’re not in town.” Rebecca paused, “Although lately it seems like you aren't eager to go out with me at all. You’re not mad at me right?” 

“Becca! Of course I’m not mad at you! You’re my best friend, it's just that, in my position, I can't have people thinking I'm a social butterfly. A lot of people will jump at an opportunity to drag me down, because I'm young and because I'm a woman. If I gain a bad reputation there will be too much attention on me, and none of the good kind. If I just show them a boring paper pusher, they're more likely to underestimate me,” 

Rebecca’s mouth fell open in a small ‘oh', 

“Riza Hawkeye, you are simply devious! I can barely fit in the room with all your ambition!” The two friends smiled at each other, “but just because you are sly doesn't mean you can't go out with me,” 

“Of course not Rebecca. I'm sorry if I made you feel neglected,” Riza took a deep breath and a little more than what constituted a sip of her drink. “Speaking of neglected, apparently Lieutenant General Grumman is my grandfather,” 

“What?!” Rebecca squeaked, “Don’t you think you should have opened with that!? I mean wow that is so weird!” 

“He seems to be genuine about it. I can’t see any reason why he would lie to me, and he knew my father’s name. I don’t...really know how to feel about it, honestly,” 

“Wow, that really is all lot to take I suppose…” Rebecca mumbled, tugging on one of her loose curls. 

“I don't want it to be common knowledge. And I'm unsure how to treat him, I think he should be my commanding officer before my grandfather, but I fear that he feels the opposite,” Riza admitted. Her face remained placid but a slight furrow in her brow alerted Rebecca to the fact that she was seriously unnerved by the situation. 

“I guess you two will have to talk it out on your own, outside of the military’s terf. Balancing personal and professional lives is really hard especially when he’s your boss. I mean that's why I'm not on you team,” Rebecca pointed out. 

“I guess I'll just avoid him as much as possible for the time being,” Riza sighed and rubbed at her temple. “I'm gonna need another of these,” only ice swirled in her glass so she raised a hand to call for the bartender. 

Riza smiled in thanks when a new drink was placed in her hands. 

“Thanks for suggesting I go out with you Rebecca, I didn't really realize how stressed I was,” Riza said, taking a satisfied sip of her drink. 

“Hey, you know I'll always be here for you,” Rebecca smiled, her voice dipping into a lower register. 

Rebecca tended to manipulate her voice in an effort to sound more feminine, but when she was serious it dropped to her natural octave. 

Riza couldn't help but smile back at her friend’s seriousness, Rebecca put up a lot of fronts (although not nearly as many as Riza) so seeing her being so nakedly genuine brought a seed of comfort into Riza’s heart. 

“Thanks, Becca. I know I don't say it enough but thanks for being my best friend,” 

Rebecca giggled into her hand,

“Oh no, you’re getting all mushy, does that mean you’re drunk?” 

Riza elbowed her in the ribs goodnaturedly and felt a laugh of her own escape. 

“Catalina, you’re the worst,” 

“But you love me anyway!” Rebecca announced, pushing Riza back playfully and ignoring the displeased looks other patrons of the bar were giving her. 

“Yeah,” Riza said, so softly that it couldn't be heard over Rebecca’s cackling, “I really do,”


	4. Chapter 4

“So this town is in the middle nowhere? It's not marked on my map,” Mustang said, squinting as if that would make the name of the town jump out at him. 

“Resembool is basically as far east as you can get before you hit the desert. It's a farming town, they raise a lot of sheep,” 

Mustang grew contemplative for a second, looking out the window at the empty rolling hillsides. 

“Doesn't seem like the place to find some master alchemists,” He finally said. 

“We just have to work off our leads, there’s nothing to say they even are master alchemists,” 

“Well, that's reassuring,” Mustang groaned, and shoved the map into his pocket. 

Their conversation dwindled as the countryside flew by in rushes of rich green. Each small town they stopped in was almost identical to the last. They were the last two passengers on the train when they finally reached the end of the line in Resembool. 

A retired MP who worked at the station offered to hitch a ride and take them to their destination. 

“Thank you, that's very kind. We were planning on inquiring at the Elric residence. Do you know where they live?” Hawkeye asked as the cart started to bounce along the trail. 

“Sure do! Everyone in town knows those boys! Hope they aren't in too much trouble with the military now!” The old cart-driver laughed. 

“Boys?” Mustang questioned as he began to shift through his bag, “Our records say that they're thirty and thirty-one, respectively,” 

“Well, your records are wrong son! Alphonse is ten and Ed’s eleven, without a doubt,” 

Roy bristled at being called son and was tempted to point out the the old man that he outranked him by quite a lot. 

“Yes it seems like we’ve been fed some false information,” Hawkeye interjected before he could open his mouth to complain. 

“We’re halfway there, if you wanna turn around?” The driver offered. 

The Lieutenant Colonel sighed,

“We came all the way out here, might as well meet these kids and see if they have any promise,” 

They trotted along for another mile or two before the Elric house came into view. It stood next to a tree on top of a hill, surrounded by rolling pastures on all sides. 

Their train ride had been long, and now the last lights of dusk were fading, bathing the whitewashed walls of the house in orange light. A strong breeze rustled the grass. 

“If you wouldn't mind waiting for us? I doubt we’ll be long,” Hawkeye said as she climbed down the edge of the cart. 

She knocked on the front door, but after waiting a few minutes without a response she ordered Mustang to go around back and see if they could gain access from another door. 

Despite her usual policy on privacy she found herself peeking through the windows, the curtains were drawn open, but she couldn't see into the unlit hallway. 

“Sir!” Roy’s stark cry distracted her from her snooping.

She jogged around to the back where Mustang stood beside the back door which was thrown ajar, clearly not by the lieutenant’s doing. 

“Be careful, sir,” the lieutenant said, indicating his head towards the door, one hand on his holster. 

She entered cautiously, descending the steps into the house’s basement. She quickly saw what had so unnerved the lieutenant, splattered up the steps was sticky red blood. 

The trail thickened as she reached the bottom of the stairs, culminating in a pool of the red liquid that rested inside a transmutation circle…

“What happened here? This blood is still pretty fresh…” 

Riza didn't acknowledge him as she raced back up the stairs and towards the cart driver. 

“Those boys,” she said in a fierce whisper, “If they aren't in the house where would they be?” 

“I suppose at the Rockbell’s, they're family friends,” he answered, confused by her command. 

“Take us there, quickly,” she ordered, her tone no-nonsense. Sensing her urgency the driver spurred the horse into action barely a moment after Mustang had hoped in the cart behind her.

The ride to the Rockbell's home wasn't far, but the journey there, heavy with anticipation and confusion, lasted a lifetime.

When the yellow house came into view, the Colonel marched up the long drive, movements rigid with military precision. 

She thumped the door three times. Light from the living room escaped through the windows. 

When the door opened, Riza elbowed her way past a short older woman,

“Pardon me, Mrs. Rockbell, but it's imperative that I speak with the Elric brothers,” 

“Look here, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't barge into my home and make demands like- hey I'm talking to you!” 

The colonel ignored the older woman’s complaints and the angry gleam in her eyes, in a room to the left a boy sat in a wheeled chair, face bent down to the floor. 

Hawkeye’s feet came to an abrupt halt three paces before the boy. 

Roy was shocked by the lieutenant colonel’s intimidating aura. Despite her reputation and capabilities, she was not a frightening woman, her face still soft and young despite the maturity of her heart. But as she examined the boy in front of her now, Roy, who had known her for years, and knew the intricacies of her moods like the back of his hand, felt imposed by her suddenly stern presence. 

After a measured moment, in which the young boy refused to meet her eyes, Hawkeye said calmly, and in contrast to her harsh mien, 

“So you performed Human Transmutation.” It wasn’t a question. 

The boy refused to meet the lieutenant colonel’s eyes, head hung in what was most likely a combination of exhaustion and shame. 

“We’re sorry. We’re so sorry,” interrupted a voice not belonging to the crippled boy. Hawkeye spun around to look at an active suit of armor. It held out a hand towards her, shaking as if wreaked by sobs. 

The armor was huge and intimidating and would have been fitting if it was found in a museum, rather than a backwater country house. 

“We’re so sorry,” the armor continued to plead, “We just wanted to see our mom’s smile again.” 

Hawkeye looked up into the armor’s face. Despite the concentration she focused on seeing the person’s eyes she was greeted by an almost ethereal glow, and even lacking the forms of expression that were found in human eyes, she was able to witness the boy’s great sadness. 

Her gaze returned to who she realized must have been the other Elric brother, who was still confined to the wheelchair, she was surprised to find his eyes raised to meet hers for the first time. 

They stood in such great contrast to inhumanness of his brother’s eyes. While the suit of armor’s eyes had glowed, like the light of a firefly, but bleeding in tones scarlet, the golden eyes of the boy in front of her burned with a rich fire. Not the sort of fire that was created when her fingers snapped together, it was not explosive in any way, but instead it burned hotly, with fierce warmth and determination, like that of a hearthfire. 

An idea sparked in her mind, one perhaps not entirely wise, nor well founded. She acted upon it regardless.   
“Lieutenant, please wait out here. Mrs. Rockbell, if I may speak to you and these boys in private for a moment?” Hawkeye asked, noticing the new presence of a young girl who had entered from the kitchen. 

“Mrs. Rockbell,” The colonel continued once they were situated around the table, “I apologize for my rudeness in entering your home, I failed to properly introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye.

If they name rang a bell for the older woman she didn’t show it, inspecting Riza with narrow eyes instead. 

“I would like for these boys to be aware of an opportunity present for them. I believe they have enough capabilities to pass the State Alchemist Exam, with flying colors,” 

“You’d have them join the military? They’re just boys,” Pinako said, crossing her arms. 

“I myself am a State Alchemist,” Only the suit of armor reacted, turning his head to look at her instead of the wall. “The program is very well funded, each Alchemist is granted a stipend for their research. In addition they are granted access to papers and research that would remain classified to people their age. They could move freely, without their motives being questioned as part of the military. If they so wished,” Riza paused to meet the eyes of the suit of armor, no, they eyes of the boy, “I believe joining the program would be the best way for the boys to recover their bodies,” 

“Alchemy has done enough to them. Can’t you see that?” Pinako hissed, her patience run dry. “After they showed up at my doorstep, delirious and mutilated, I went and buried that thing they created. More alchemy won’t help them now, nothing that created that monster could help them, they’ve suffered enough,”

“Perhaps,” Riza said at length, “But sitting still won’t let them accomplish anything either. Only they can make the choice to take the opportunity I’m offering and keep moving forward,”

The brothers didn’t look at her as she rose. They didn’t need to, though, Riza knew her words had been taken to heart. She pulled out her card and placed it upon the table. 

“You can use that to contact me. I apologize again for infringing on your hospitality. Good night, and best of luck,” 

///

“Have you ever shot anyone?” 

Roy turned to face the young girl. Her voice was small, yet strong, as if it had the power to part the seas but didn’t quite believe in itself.  
“Yes,” he answered honestly, surprising himself a bit. 

This seemed to upset the girl, her hands shook around the tray of tea she carried, and her lips trembled dangerously, and for a moment Roy thought she might cry. 

“Why would you do something like that? Why would you make Ed and Al do something like that? They aren’t killers like you! Don’t make them join the military!” 

Roy didn’t flinch as her nervousness turned to anger, in an attempt at gentleness he tried to explain, 

“I won’t make Ed and Al do anything. They need to make their own decisions so that they do what’s best for them,”

“Being a soldier isn’t what’s best for anyone,” the blonde girl whispered hotly, “Soldiers took my parents away,” 

“Maybe,” Roy answered, earning him a glare, “But soldiers also do their best to do good things, like Ed and Al will,” 

“What good things have you done?” she snarled, with a hidden ferocity that didn’t befit someone who couldn’t be older than ten. 

“I live to protect,” the lieutenant answered. 

Hawkeye left the inner room a moment later, a nod of farewell given to the small blonde girl. 

Roy felt the angry glare follow his back as they left, tracing his steps till the house was out of sight.


	5. Chapter 5

He was about to go to bed when the phone rang. 

“Mustang,” he answered on the fourth ring, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. 

“Lieutenant, it’s Colonel Hawkeye. Pack your bags, we’re catching the first train to Central in the morning,” 

The click of the line told him she had hung up. He stared at the the receiver for a moment before dialing her number to call back. 

When she hadn’t picked up the phone by the seventh ring he thought she wouldn’t answer but a moment later he heard through the static of the line, 

“Lieutenant?” 

Roy Mustang had been listening to Colonel Hawkeye call him Lieutenant for the past five years, but never before had he heard her say the title like she just had. Her voice was breathy and vulnerable, there was no fire, no spark, it was chilling. 

“Yes, it’s me. What’s wrong? Why are we going to Central?” 

He listened to her breath across the line. 

“Do you remember,” she finally said, when she seemed to gain some semblance of control of herself, “How they transferred some Eastern men out to Central before quarterly reviews, for training?” 

“Yes,” he answered evenly, special training secessions weren’t uncommon in Central, especially if someone was up for promotion. 

“Rebecca Catalina was out there for the past two weeks, and she’s been killed,” 

“Oh my God,” Roy said as he heard Hawkeye’s voice crack on the last word. He waited for her to gain control of herself and say more, it was easy to distinguish her rapid breathing across the line as if she too were shocked by her own words.

But after several tense moments when Hawkeye said nothing at all Mustang interrupted the silence, 

“I’m coming over,”

“No, no, don’t,” she managed, “That would be inappropriate,” 

Roy wanted to groan in frustration, of course Hawkeye would be a stickler for propriety, even in a time like this. 

“I’m not leaving you alone. I’m coming over,” he repeated, perhaps not as gently as he should have been. 

“...Okay,” Hawkeye concided and Mustang waited another moment before replacing the receiver in its cradle waiting for Hawkeye to speak again. She didn’t, and the click of the phone echoed forlornly in his empty apartment. 

He moved in a rush, collecting his dress uniform from where it hung in his closet, it would be wrinkled, unless he had time in Central to get it pressed, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. 

He pulled out a suitcase from under his bed, stuffing in his normal uniform as well as an outfit of civilian clothes, and old sweatpants to sleep in. With a spark of remembrance he threw in his toiletries, slammed his suitcase down and zipped it shut. After he grabbed his coat, along with his wallet and keys, he was out the door in less than ten minutes. 

He knew Hawkeye’s address--given to him ages ago, in case of emergencies, in case of a situation just like this--but he had never actually been there and berated himself for not knowing how to get there. 

But finding Pine Street wasn’t hard, it had only felt like forever, with the empty midnight streets and his pounding heart. He had left his case in the car rushing upstairs to apartment 2D, lucky that someone hadn’t locked the door to her building. 

He took a deep breath before he knocked on her door, he couldn’t appear ruffled or uneasy now, he had to be stable for the Colonel, he knocked firmly on the door, just twice. 

She opened the door right away, which surprised him. She looked fine, like she was just getting ready to go to bed on an average Tuesday, and he hated it. This was the mask Hawkeye always painted for herself, an unfeeling soldier, a single gear in the military machine, as if she didn’t have powerful and tangible feelings, as if she wasn’t the most caring woman he had ever met. She wasn’t supposed to be like this in front of him, it was just the carefully cultivated facade she presented, but never to him. She was meant to trust him, she didn’t need to hide around him, he thought she knew that. 

“You can come in,” she said moving to the side to allow him access to her flat. 

Her flat was small, almost as small as his, which was odd considering she was both a colonel and a state alchemist, her salary was easily twice what he earned. The living room was connected to the kitchen, both kept in the orderly fashion he came to expect of her. But, like his own apartment, it didn’t look particularly lived in, nothing about it was very personal, no pictures, no knickknacks or clutter, even her bookshelf didn’t dictate anything about her personal reading tastes, but seemed to hold an extensive collection of reference volumes and a basic conglomeration of almost every genre he could think of. 

He supposed they both lived too much at work, to really use their homes as anything other than a place to sleep. But Roy wished, nethertheless, that she had something else to live for, beyond blind ambition. 

She did, he reminded himself, have something to live for, but that woman was dead in Central, it was the reason why he was here, he had to focus. 

He slid his arms from his coat sleeves as she closed the door behind them, the sharp snick of the lock echoing through her apartment. She moved to the kitchen, the gush of the faucet filled the stagnant hollowness of her apartment. 

He hung up his coat and she handed him a glass of water. There was silence again. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, placing the unasked for glass on a side table. 

She sat on the couch, closed her eyes, and ignored him. 

Her couch was the only place to sit, she had no other chairs. 

If he was a different man, he’d sit beside her and gather her in his arms, whisper soft things into her ear. If she were a different woman her tears might soak his collar. He sat on the floor. 

She opened her eyes and looked to the ceiling, a moment later she turned her head to look at the abandoned glass of water. When she had handed it to him it had been lukewarm to the touch. 

“Maybe you should get to bed” he suggested as he watched her head roll against the back of the couch. Her eyes met his and she look so tired. “Go to sleep,” he urged. 

“I won’t be able to,” she murmured, and he wished he knew every way she was tearing herself apart inside her head right now, what guilt and grief were doing to her cunning mind. She reached over and grabbed the glass, water sloshed over the sides to fall on her hand, she downed it in one gulp. 

He sat up all night just looking at her, he couldn’t believe it felt like such a burden now, when usually he craved spare moments where he could just look at her. 

When he awoke the next morning, it came as a shock, he hadn’t meant to sleep if she didn’t, but it seemed his eyes simply wouldn’t stay open any longer and he had dozed off for a few hours, right there on the floor. Hawkeye had draped a blanket over him. 

“What time is it?” he asked as he stretched to get the cricks out from his neck. She had moved from the couch and now sat on the kitchen counter. There was something carefree in the action, so very un-Hawkeye, but he could remember her doing that often in their childhood, and he wondered if she ate her dinner every night on the counter, just like that. 

“A quarter to six.” Her voice was so aggravatingly normal, not placid as it had been last night, the few times they spoke, but normal. She might as well have told him to file the paperwork with the way she was speaking, it disturbed him. 

“How long did I sleep?” 

“About three hours.” She had another glass of water in hand, she took a sip. 

“And how long did you sleep?” 

“I didn’t,” 

He shot her his most disappointed look as he rose from the floor. His whole body ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position. He slipped his hand beneath his collar to massage his shoulder, he groaned slightly. 

“Do they ever hurt?” she asked, and he lifted an eyebrow until he realized she was referring to the burn scars that decorated his left shoulder. 

“No,” he answered honestly, “The skin doesn’t even pull taunt when I stretch anymore,” 

She nodded and sipped her water again. 

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” he asked because his mind was still groggy. 

“No, it’s the door on the left,” she indicated with her finger, “I’ll get you a towel,” 

She hopped from the counter and fetched him a towel and a washcloth, he thanked her and then stepped into her bathroom and locked the door. 

The first thing he noticed was the two toothbrushes that sat in a cup next to the sink, the second was a crack in the mirror. He sighed and decided to ignore both of these things. He stripped and turned on the water. The water was scalding and it took him a minute to figure out how to turn it down to a reasonable temperature before he climbed in. 

He washed as quickly and efficiently as he could and he didn’t realize till he was drying himself off that he had left his case in the car last night. He couldn’t just trapeze into the Colonel’s apartment wearing just a towel, so he put on the clothes he was wearing yesterday on again, even though it felt like he was negating the cleaning he just did. 

He emerged from the bathroom after he dressed still trying to towel off the last of the dampness from his hair. Hawkeye wasn’t anywhere to be found. 

“Colonel!” he called, wondering what to do with his wet towel. “Colonel!” 

He walked to the door next to the bathroom, her bedroom presumably, and knocked once against it. It moved inwards with the force of his knock. He glanced inside, hating his own nosiness. Bedrooms were a very private and a very intimate thing, and, to him, there was something especially forbidden about Hawkeye’s bedroom. The entire situation just screamed of an inherent wrongness, but the Colonel was in a fragile state and invasions of her privacy could be excused when compared to the state of her well being. 

He needn’t have worried, she was not inside, but his answer came a moment later when Hawkeye opened the front door, carrying his suitcase in with her. 

“There you are,” he said lamely, feeling caught in the act as he backed away from her bedroom door. 

“I thought you’d want to wear a fresh set of clothes, so I went and got your suitcase,” She closed the door and deposited his keys back into his coat pocket. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as he took the case from her. She only shrugged. “When’s the train leave?” he asked because he knew how to be professional with Hawkeye, he was less sure about being emotional with Hawkeye, and despite knowing that he was the one now responsible for making sure she didn’t tip over any ledges, he wasn’t quite equipped to handle any such quandaries. 

“0715,” 

Great, so they had an entire hour to kill, assuming it took them fifteen minutes to get to the station. And clearly neither of them were up to eating anything. 

Hawkeye hopped into the shower next, and he was glad she seemed to be functioning well, at least. He changed while she was in the bathroom. He might have to get into his uniform later, but he’d rather be comfortable during the long train ride. 

Hawkeye took her time in the shower, and after she had dressed and opened the bathroom door to let the steam escape, had spent an atrocious amount of time brushing her hair. 

He was fairly confident that this was because she wanted to avoid him--and was running out of ways to ignore him without being rude--and was not actually something she did every morning. Her hair did look very nice though, especially now as it hung over her back and the wet ends curled upward. 

The hour he dreaded before they departed for the train station turned out to be much better than he anticipated, they just navigated her apartment around each other and gave one another the widest berths possible. 

They walked to the station, as paying for a parking spot cost an arm and a leg, and that was barring any human transmutation (Roy thought about sharing the joke with the Colonel, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate it on a good day, and less when she was grieving, so he refrained). 

The train ride was simply horrible. Trains to Central were always busy, and the early morning train was packed with people who wanted to get there before late afternoon. The wooden benches didn't help the bad night's sleep he had got. 

They hardly talked for the duration of the trip, and Roy was given a minute to ponder what kind of relationship was more comfortable with long, drawn-out silences than with basic heartfelt communication. He had taken their mutual understanding for granted for so long that when that understanding fell through he no longer knew how to talk to her. 

He found the entire ordeal to be emotionally draining, which made him feel guilty because whatever Hawkeye was feeling (and not telling him about) surely eclipsed his own plights. 

Mercifully, they finally reached Central. Roy carried both their suitcases as Hawkeye navigated the way to the hotel she had booked. 

“The funeral will be tomorrow,” she explained as they waited at a crosswalk. Roy wondered at the military’s efficiency, most civilian funerals would take at least a week to organize, and Mustang hoped that Catalina’s family had enough time to get there, they were probably coming from all the way out east too, and didn’t get much of a say in the funeral rights. 

They arrived at the hotel, but where too early to check in. The place wasn’t a five star establishment by any means, more like a hostel with a community bathroom at the end of each hall, but the rooms were probably bigger than the ones provided by the military’s housing, even so Roy couldn’t figure out why the Colonel had bothered to splurge. They sat in the lobby while they waited for their rooms to be prepared, silent once more. 

Roy spent far too much time trying to psyche himself up with what he might talk to the Colonel about, that when he finally thought he had mustered up the courage to talk to her their rooms were ready, and she had locked herself inside in her room three doors down. 

Roy flopped down on the lumby bed, utterly exhausted by the past two days that had seemed to have stretched on for an entire week. He drifted off to sleep, the lumpy bed still an improvement on the floor he had slept on the night previous, and when he awoke it was a little after six in the evening. 

He was hungry so he straightened out his rumpled clothes to the best of his ability and then got up to go knock on the Colonel’s door. 

It took her six minutes to answer him. 

“Shit, you finally got to sleep and I woke you up. Sorry, sir,” he said when he caught sight of her appearance. Her eyes were still bleary and drooping from sleep and her clothes were just as rumpled as his own. 

“It’s fine,” she said, although she was clearly annoyed, he just couldn’t tell if she was annoyed at him, or herself for falling asleep, “did you need something?” 

“I thought we could grab a bite to eat, since we didn’t have breakfast, or lunch. I don’t know Central very well, but I went to a nice sandwich joint when I came down for Maes’ wedding, and I remember where it is,” he suggested. 

“You can go, I’m not hungry,” she said, moving to close the door, “I’ll see you-” 

“No, no,” he interrupted, propping the door open with his foot, “I insist on taking you out to eat,” He pushed his way into Hawkeye’s room, the door shutting with more of a slam than he had intended. “Consider it an act of chivalry,” 

Hawkeye frowned, “I don’t think you’re in a position to insist I do anything, Lieutenant,” 

Mustang wore a frown to match hers and crossed his arms, “It’s my job to protect you, and I’m not going to let you starve yourself, so I’m taking you out to dinner,” 

“Feeding me isn’t part of your job description,” Hawkeye countered, a little bit of the fire that had been absent from her in the last day could be heard in her voice. Roy smirked. 

“I like to go above and beyond the call of duty. Come on let’s go,” He gripped her elbow between his thumb and middle finger and very nearly dragged her from the room. 

Perhaps her nap had improved her mood because she seemed much more eager to talk to her as they made their way down the busy Central streets. 

“‘An act of chivalry’? Really?” 

“Hey, if I ever made an effort I bet I could be a bigger lady killer than Havoc,” Roy protested. 

“You’d call Havoc a ‘lady killer’? I thought the whole joke was that he couldn’t get a girlfriend to save his ass,” 

“That was the point,” Roy smiled, finally catching sight of the red neon sign of the sandwich shop he remembered. 

“Get whatever you like, I’m paying,” Roy told her as they entered and inspected the menu that hung over the counter. “And don’t even pretend like you’re not hungry, you probably didn’t even eat dinner last night,” 

The Colonel relented, standing beside him in line behind a man in a tailored suit. Once they’d gotten their food, they stationed themselves in one of the store’s empty booths, and eating gave them an excuse not to talk. 

The walk back to the hotel provided no such obstructions. And Roy was determined not to let Hawkeye get away before they talked. 

“Colonel, are you-” he began. 

“I’m fine, Roy,” Her statement told him immediately that she was not fine, and also that there was nothing he could do about. Resigned, he kept his mouth shut for the rest of the walk back to the hotel, a little annoyed that he had failed entirely in his mission to get the Colonel to open up. 

He paused outside her hotel room, when she held up her arm to block his way. She slid the key into the door’s lock and stepped inside. Turning around to face him she said, 

“I just, want you to know Lieutenant, that I really...appreciate everything you do for me. I-” she paused, “Good night,” Quietly she shut the door in his face before he could respond in kind. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. 

The next morning was awkward and tense, his dress uniform wasn’t as neat as it should have been, not that he suspected anyone would notice. The black sash was pristine. 

As was the Colonel, who stood before him as the epitome of the military, medals shining and face neutral. 

Greenfield National Cemetery was an oddly beautiful place, each clean white headstone a memorial of a fallen soldier raised over lush green grass. He remembered a grave he made in Ishval and forced his gaze forward. 

The ceremony was short, and private. He hated it, how the military reduced the memory of the dead woman to the sound of gunshots ringing out in increments of three. Rebecca Catalina’s memory should have been remembered instead. He watched the wooden casket being lowered into the ground as he saluted and heard the sobs of a woman who had to be Rebecca’s mother, curly black hair streaked with grey. 

“Perhaps we should go, sir?” he said to the Colonel after the ceremony was concluded. They were not the only ones who lingered next to the freshly carved tombstone. Her mother remained, along with her aunt, or maybe grandmother. Roy felt an imposter, on the family’s grief, and the Colonel’s too. He wasn’t someone who had loved Rebecca, they maintained only a working relationship, and even then they weren’t close. If she wasn’t dead, Roy would have no problem admitting he didn’t like her. 

“I’d like to take a few more minutes,” 

“Of course, sir. Take as much time as you need,” 

He knew her words had been meant as a dismissal, but she had been ignoring and dismissing him constantly for the past two days, and he refused to leave her in the fragile state her face would not betray. He would have directly disobeyed had she ordered he leave. 

Maybe ten minutes later she said, 

“Let’s go, before we get caught in the rain,” 

The clouds in the sky were wispy and white, the blue of day shifting to yellow then orange as the sun began to set. 

The Colonel had ordered a military car, wanting to go to the crime scene directly after the funeral. It waited on the street outside the cemetery, Roy dismissed the driver after getting directions and claiming the keys, and slid into the driver’s seat. The Colonel opened the door and got into the backseat, organizing the formal skirt over her legs. 

“Wait just a moment Lieutenant,” she said after he placed the key into the ignition, but before he could turn it. 

An unsteady exhale was his only warning, before her emotions came pouring down in torrents. 

Her sobs were harsh and ugly. They twisted and settled sourly in his gut. 

He let his hands fall off the wheel and rest in his lap. He looked up, only once, to see her in the mirror. She was bent over, one hand pressed to her gut as tear tracks ran messy lines down her face. 

It was another ten minutes before he started the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I was gonna jump around in the timeline, I hoped this chapter didn't confuse anyone, what with it being in Roy's POV when no other chapters have and Rebecca dying for the same reason as Maes (if that wasn't clear, I just had to give her a reason to be in Central) she does seem kinda like a nosy girl (and I am sorry about killing her, I didn't tag this as Major Character death, but if you think I should please let me know) that Envy might need to get rid of :/ hoped the angsty Royai made up for it considering they haven't gotten that much time together in this fic. Anyway tell me what you think!


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